Under Fire (16 page)

“Can I buy you another drink?” he asked in a thick German accent. He was good looking with strong features, well built and tall. Any other day she would have said yes.

“Thank you.” She downed the second shot. Today wasn’t any other day. “But I’ve had two and that’s my limit.” His smile disappeared. “Please sit.” She patted the stool next to her. “We can talk while you have another. My name is Olivia.” She thrust her hand out to shake.

When or if Silva’s men checked her out, a woman flirting with a good looking man would seem normal. For the better part of an hour she sipped Perrier and listened to Paul talk about his world travels, lamenting the fact he had no woman to travel along. She certainly knew why. The whole time, he never once asked about her. Why she was in Miami, where she was from. Nothing. She had hoped to practice her story on him. He was one narcissistic son-of-a-bitch and she had hardly been able to say more than
hmm
or nod her head. When he told her he wasn’t a guest of the hotel and had come to the bar in hopes of meeting a beautiful, wealthy woman she’d had all the attention she could handle. She stood and pulled several bills from a pocket.

The bartender waved her off. “You’re paid up, ma’am.”

She jerked her head toward Paul. “For the loser here. This enough?”

The bartender gave her a wry smile and nodded.

“Goodbye, Paul,” she said pleasantly and walked away. Glancing around, she half expected to see Rico lurking in a corner. Damn it, she missed him. She had accepted him into her life as comfortably as her body had accepted and accommodated his.

In the suite, she found her purchases neatly hanging or in drawers. The bedside clock read five. She’d skipped lunch and was hungry. If she ate now she could sleep until it was time to go to the club. The Replay opened at eleven and Silva never arrived before midnight. She wanted to be there no later than one. Scanning the hotel’s room service menu, she was horrified to find a meal with wine and dessert plus tip would cost two hundred dollars. She ordered a fifty dollar seafood salad. No wine or dessert. A young man arrived with the tray in less than twenty minutes and set the table on the balcony.

The salad was worth every cent. Chunks of crab, lobster, shrimp and scallops melted in her mouth. She now wished she’d ordered the carafe of Sauvignon Blanc that room service recommended. Stomach full, she stretched out on the chaise to nap. Thoughts about what was to come kept sleep at bay.

Tonight she would come face to face with the man responsible for Danny’s death. She’d waited a long time for this. Keeping her emotions in check was not going to be easy. Rico had convinced her that killing him outright would serve no purpose but hers. Another man would step into his place before Silva’s body was cold. The most important thing was to find how the cartel was getting the information about undercovers. She wanted the person who had sold Danny out.

Then she would kill them both.

She put the Jag in park and waited for the valet. A dark, handsome young man jogged to her door, pulled it open and welcomed her to the Replay. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she swung her legs out and stood gracefully. The valet was a good ten inches shorter and his gaze was plastered to her chest.
Men.
Slowly, she pulled a folded fifty from between her breasts and handed it to him.

“Keep it close,” she said, referring to the Jag, “and there’s another one of those for you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He took the bill and put it to his lips, nodding.

Olivia had chosen a black dress to wear. The material clung to her like it had been made for her body. The front draped low on her breasts. Straps that looked more like tiny sleeves looped her broad shoulders. The back—which only began at her waistline—mimicked the drape of the front. The skirt came to her knees and flared when she turned. The clerk at the boutique had tried to talk her out of it, explaining women wore colorful short dresses to the clubs. Olivia didn’t want to look like the other women.

Tonight Olivia wanted to stand out.

The young woman had also suggested lingerie. When Olivia saw the cost of one silk and lace panty was seventy-five dollars she refused to look at the tags on the others. The best buy of all were the black dance shoes. They were comfortable and she wouldn’t go home crippled after dancing for hours. Silver jewelry completed the look.

She walked to the front of the very long line, right past the gatekeeper, doing as Rico instructed. “Act like you own the place,” he’d said. She was stepping through the door before she was challenged. She turned, leaned her head to the side and gave the man a smoky look.

“Ah, go ahead,” he said, waving his arm, gesturing for her to advance. For his generosity he was berated by several women waiting in line. Olivia blew the man a kiss and strode confidently into the club.

Inside she fought through the mass of humanity to where Rico said Silva’s booth would be. From Rico’s description, she recognized the man instantly, but still, he wasn’t what she’d expected. Rico described him as forty-five, with dark curly hair, deep set eyes, a long hawkish nose and a strong jaw and chin, slender and always wearing expensive clothes. He exuded a presence—clearly a powerful man. He sat surrounded by three young women in what Danny always called the gunslinger seat. A position allowing him to see who came toward him and offering easy access to a back exit. In this case, through the kitchen.

She made eye contact with Silva a second before a huge man blocked her forward progress. His massive chest filled her vision. Olivia had to look up to see his face. She stepped to her left and he made a counter step. Sighing dramatically, she put the tip of her right index finger on his shirt over his heart.

“I’m here to see Mr. Silva,” she said, tipping her head in the direction of the booth. The huge man didn’t answer. He did put his hand to her shoulder, applying enough pressure to force her to take a step back.

“Mr. Silva doesn’t see anyone without an appointment,” he growled.

Reflexively, without thinking, Olivia grabbed the man’s thumb, twisting hard. Anyone else would have screamed in pain. He grunted, twitched his nose and gave her a menacing look. Still holding his thumb in her hand, she didn’t quite know what to do next. He apparently did.

Using his free hand to grasp her shoulder, he propelled her toward the entrance. She quickstepped to one side and his hand slipped. No longer having her to lean against, he lost his balance, stumbling. Her arm shot out to steady him. He weighed as much as a Volkswagen. He was agile for a man his size and regained his footing quickly. She withdrew her arm. Her gaze went back to Silva, who watched the exchange.

This wasn’t going the way she wanted. Not five minutes in and she’d already screwed up. She fought the urge to turn, run out and start again.
Shit.
Angry with herself, she regained her composure and took a step toward Silva. The big man didn’t stop her, in fact he moved his considerable bulk away, giving her the courage to take another step.
This is it, Olivia. Act one, scene one, begins now.

“I am Olivia De Levec.” She stuck out her hand to shake, addressing the man she knew ordered her brother’s death. “I’ll get right to the point. I’ve come here to make you a business proposition. I work for Snelling & Jones Import Company in Vancouver.” He made no attempt to rise or take her outstretched hand. She slowly returned it to her side. “I’m sure you’ve heard about our inventory problems. I’m here asking for assistance from other…import companies. You, your company, is our first choice.”

Silva waved his hand at the big man in a dismissive gesture.

“What makes you think we are in the same business and that I can help you?”

Olivia pointedly looked at the three very young, very beautiful women. He slung his arms around the shoulders of the girls sitting to either side of him. “They stay,” he said dryly.

“Then I don’t. Sorry to have taken you time. Perhaps one of your competitors will be more willing to assist me.” She turned briskly and walked away, moving as fast as she could through the crowd.

Crap!
She had blown it. Outside she raised her arm to signal the valet to bring the Jag. A hand the size of a catcher’s mitt gripped her shoulder and forced her arm down.

“Mr. Silva asks you to return. Said to tell you the ladies are gone,” the big man mumbled.

Relief overwhelmed her. She followed as he cut a path through the crowd to Silva’s table like an ice breaker. Silva gestured for her to join him and she slid over the supple leather seat close to him. In a slow deliberate motion Olivia placed her purse on the table. “There’s a .38 in there.” She tapped the purse with a finger. “One of your men might like to hold it while we talk.”

Silva narrowed his eyes, threatening to make his thick eyebrows a unibrow. He dragged the purse close and opened it. Placing his napkin over the .38, he removed it and pushed it across the table to the big guy. The .38 disappeared into the Volkswagen’s jacket. Silva spread the remaining contents on the table, fingering her lip gloss, opening the compact, turning the cell on and off, and closely examining her driver’s license, credit card and hotel key card. He finished by counting out her five hundred dollars. Satisfied they were nothing sinister, he snapped his fingers. A thin man appeared out of the shadows, replaced all the items in her purse and left with it.

“Now that we have that out of the way, please, tell me your name again.”

“Olivia De Levec.”

“Should I know this name?”

“No.” She smiled.

“I repeat. Why do you think I can help with your problem?”

She leaned, deliberately brushing her breasts against his sleeve. “I was sent here by my uncle. Excuse me, I mean my employer. I assume you know about our recent problems with the American, Mexican and Canadian governments.”

“I may.” Again his eyebrows joined.

“Then you know we are currently short of imports. Our customers are very distressed. Until we can get back up to speed we’re looking for investors who can help us build inventory.”

Silva made a quick move, grabbing her shoulders and pinning her to the back of the booth. Olivia’s blood turned stone cold. This wasn’t what Rico meant when he called Silva a space invader exerting his dominance, this was something else. He held his face so close his breath brushed her neck and the smell of his cologne overwhelmed her own perfume. He released one shoulder, but fell more against her, keeping her pinned. Silva’s free hand roamed her body. First her breasts, then sliding inside the back of the dress, fondling her ass. Her hands rose toward his neck. Her gaze darted around the room. Were they being watched? Could she break his neck before being stopped? She relaxed and lowered her hands. He was searching for a wire or weapon and getting a feel in the process. His dark feral eyes stared into hers. She held his stare and kept her body still. Even the slightest flinch would be taken as a sign of weakness.

His smooth hand traveled up the inside of her thigh, bunching the skirt of her dress in her lap. She shifted her leg to give him complete access. When Silva’s fingers touched her thong she spoke in his ear. “I pretty much know where everything is. If you tell me what you’re looking for I can help you find it.” Silva went still and she did the same. His hand slid from under her dress and away.

“Find what you were looking for?” she spoke again in his ear.

“Not yet, but, if we continue this—” he leaned back and she could see his amused look, “—
friendship,
I intend to.”

“Then I take it you’re considering assisting us with inventory?” She forced a smile in return.

He moved off her, settling back against the leather. “Perhaps.” He raked a hand through his hair and straightened his tie, stretching his neck to adjust his shirt collar. Next he pulled on the lapels of his expensive jacket and smoothed the sleeves. When it was straightened to his liking, he looked her over carefully. “Why did you come to me and not one of the other
businessmen
here in Miami?”

Olivia sat statue still, making no effort whatsoever to put her own clothes in order, and took her time to answer. “Why bother wondering if they can get the job done properly when our contacts tell us you can? Time is short. We can’t wait months or weeks for a shipment. Our information says you have the ability to help us right away.”

Silva held his chin between his index finger and thumb, contemplating her words.

“What is the big hurry?”

Olivia made an exasperated sound. “If we can’t supply our customers they will go to the Asians, Vietnamese or Chinese organizations and we will lose a great deal of money. We have enough to keep our customers happy for two weeks and then…”

“How are your Asian competitors being supplied?”

“Same way, with Pacific Rim contacts.”

He made a come here gesture and the man with her purse appeared. Silva tapped the table with his middle finger and the man placed it on the spot. “I will have to speak with your boss before I make my decision. Call him.” He removed her cell and shoved it to her.

“Three things you need to remember, Mr. Silva,” she said, ignoring the phone. “One, I am not some stupid bitch who doesn’t know which end is up. Two, don’t order me around. Three, if we do business, you do it with me.”

“Do you dance, Olivia?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Do you dance?” He smiled. “I noticed you are wearing dance shoes.”

Observant bastard. “Yes. A little.” She glanced around to the dance floor. “Not so much to salsa.” Pleased she hadn’t sucked in her lip at the lie, she allowed the corners of her mouth to turn up.

“Come.” He slid out of the booth, offering his hand to her. “I will show you.”

She wasn’t sure what was happening. Had he agreed to discuss doing business or was he dismissing her request? She didn’t move. Silva laughed.

“Come. We’ll dance now, talk later.”

He guided her to the dance floor. When he took her in his arms, she used every ounce of control to push back the hate and revulsion surging through her like gale force winds. Her skin felt too small for her body and her muscles crawled to be free from it.

Two months ago Olivia would have bet everything she owned that if she ever got this close to Silva, she would snap his neck. Tonight she had to accomplish more than killing him. Pulling her closer and resting his hand on the curve of her ass, he moved them to the music. Her feet didn’t get the memo it was time to dance and remained planted to the floor. She stumbled. The small jarring motion was enough to snap her mind back to where it needed to be.

“Sorry,” she mouthed. She forced a submissive smile and tightened her fingers around his hand. She was going to bring this man and his organization down and, beginning right now, she was going to enjoy it.

Silva shifted his hold and she relaxed, forcing everything from her mind but the music. Olivia let him lead her until she got the feel of his body and rhythm. During the next pause between songs Silva did not release her. She was keenly aware other people on the dance floor were watching.

He took her right arm and rested it on his shoulder. Snaking both arms around her, he placed his hands on the curve of her ass. The music started—a song she and Rico danced to often. Olivia draped her other arm across his shoulder and made her move. Enjoying the look of surprise that crossed his face, she shimmied in a way that challenged him to do the same.

Instead, he hauled her against him, slamming their bodies together. She wasn’t surprised to discover a growing bulge in the front of his pants pressing against her thigh. She pushed back a knot of nausea rising in her throat and tried to picture Danny, but couldn’t. It was Rico’s face she saw. His voice she heard saying “you can do this.” The thought of Rico centered her.

Determined to gain Silva’s trust, she gave it everything she had. When the music stopped, Olivia made no move to separate from him.

“Olivia, you are an excellent dancer.”

“Thank you.” She lowered her eyelids to half mast. “It’s more like I’m a quick learner and you are an excellent teacher.” Her effort to stroke his ego paid off. He smiled and seemed pleased with her compliment.

A man signaled Silva from the edge of the dance floor. Instantly his body language changed.

She bristled when he ordered her to return to the booth, but said nothing. A scantily dressed waitress set a drink in front of her. Taking a sip, she found it was a Mojito made the right way.

Olivia watched the man hand Silva something small, which he pocketed, and lean close to speak in his ear. Silva dismissed him, stood still for a moment then turned and walked briskly toward her. She was sure they had been speaking about her.

He slid in next to her. “My men searched your room.”

She blinked several times and leaned back as far away as she could get from him. “And?” She’d expected this, but the speed of it was surprising.

“What is in the room safe?”

“A 9mm and disposable phones.” She took a sip of the Mojito. “A few pieces of jewelry. My passport…” She left the impression there was more
and
she wasn’t about to tell him what the more was.